"But," he added, taking Barry by the arm, "he is very weak, remember, and must not be excited." "I know, doctor," said Barry, quietly.

"I won't worry him." Through the morning Barry sat by his father's cot, giving him, under the directions of the nurse, such stimulants as he needed, now and then speaking a quiet, cheery word.
Often his father opened his eyes and smiled at him.
"Good to see you there, my boy.

That was my only grief.

I feared I might not see you again.

Thank the good God that he allowed me to see you." "He is good, dad, isn't He?
Good to me; good to us both." "Yes, He is good," said his father, and fell asleep.